


Unencrypted Hearts (The Comfort Stop Coda)

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-17
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The road to Minnesota is paved with eye patch-wearing archaeologists and dirty-minded colonels</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unencrypted Hearts (The Comfort Stop Coda)

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to Unencrypted Hearts, written as a birthday fic for sid.

One of two things is going to happen if we don’t stop the car soon.

1 I am going to kill Jack.

2 I am going to come in my really rather nice Calvin Klein jeans.

Number one will come to pass if he makes one, _just one,_ more joke about pirates. And, oh it doesn’t stop there. After a wealth of  “Is that a parrot in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?” type  inanity, he  switches radio channels and happens across Andy Williams crooning “You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off you”, which naturally becomes “can’t take my _eye_ off you.... get it, Daniel, ... Huh?  ... Pretty funny.” With added out-of-tune singing.

Ass-hat.

Number two will occur if he doesn’t stop doing suggestive things like rolling up his shirt sleeves to show off his tanned, hairy forearms, swallowing his coffee and wearing those shades that make him look like a movie star.

Okay. So he does all those things anyway. Every day. And they don’t usually get me harder than the hardest thing in Hard Town but, Jesus, it’s been three weeks. THREE WEEKS. And in that time I’ve been bored and lonely, have acted the wounded hero on an alien planet, been confined to the infirmary with a pissy Sam and now I’m wearing a _fucking_ eye patch.

Oh yes. And I’m horny as all get out.  Did I mention horny?

Anyway. I’m sulking because of the aforementioned one and two, and Jack’s studiously ignoring that and telling me 1,001 things I Never Wanted to Know About Minnesota.

Yawn.  Did I know por ejemplo, that  Minnesota can be translated as “somewhat clouded water?” Well, yes, since you mention it, and since language is, you know, my THING.

Also, did I know that two continental divides meet in rural Hibbing? And that the state has 11,842 lakes? No. No I fucking didn’t know that. Nor do I care. All I want is a warm cabin, a warmer body to snuggle up to and possibly fuck, and the chance to be in love with the irritating, smug (did I mention irritating?) man I love.

I care not one jot about the fact that the state is the U.S.’s largest producer of sugar beets.

Time to try a different tack. Sulking hasn’t worked.

“So, um, how are we doing for gas?” Heh. I am the master of the innocent question.

Jack breaks off from tapping the steering wheel in time to Bolero. Yes. _Bolero._ Could he have _chosen_ a more obvious and erotic piece to play on the CD player? Bastard. It’s my car, by the way. He’s driving it because he says I drive like his mom and he’d like to get to the cabin sometime this year, and he’s choosing the music. What’s wrong with this picture?

“Okay for about another 100 miles or so.”

Fuck.

I sigh dramatically and stare out of the side window in a wistful, enigmatic way.  If this was a movie, I’d be shot in black and white. The wind would blow tantalizingly through my hair. Maybe a few drops of rain would edge sadly down the window, serving only to emphasize the isolated and deeply-rooted loneliness and unhappiness of the beautiful man in the frame.

God, I love me when I’m being deep. I can be deeper than Teal’c any day of the week. Just don’t tell him I said that.

“Pity.”

“Why?”

He knows why. And, truth be told, he’s as desperate for it as I am. He just likes playing the game. The “I love to pretend that I have no idea you’re hard for me” game. It gets him hard and makes the eventual sex even hotter and messier. I repeat. Bastard.

“Because I need a coffee and a pee, probably in reverse order.” And to jerk you off and feel  your come drip through my fingers and kiss the living fuck out of you. Hooooornnnyyyyy.

He casts a sideways glance at me. “Didn’t you go before we left?”

Aaaagh. “I am not five years old, Jack.”

“Could have fooled me.” And he’s staring straight ahead through the windshield and turning up Bolero up to 11. It’s irresistible, that unrelenting, unchanging ostinato rhythm, building to the inevitable climax. Oh, _christ,_ don’t think about climax. Don’tdon’tdon’t....

I shift in my seat and surreptitiously slide my hand over my groin, pushing the heel of my right hand into the bulge in my designer jeans. God, that feels good, just a little pressure, just a little, not too much, not jerking myself through the denim here, no sirree Bob. Must ... stop.  Must ...

“Stop!”

Jack’s reaction time would put a 100 metre sprinter on the blocks to shame and he slams on the brakes. Luckily, the street behind us in this small town that I don’t know the name of is clear of traffic.

“What?”

“Gas. Coffee. Pee. Now.” I point to the Shell station across the street.

He sighs heavily, then smirks because, foolishly, I’ve left my hand on the bulge in my pants and he’s seen it.

He turns the car onto the forecourt, the flat of one hand turning the steering wheel, and that makes me harder. He’s so nonchalantly in control. Oooh. He’s like that in bed sometimes.  He handles me with an ease and assurance and that makes me melt into the mattress while he’s fucking me with strong “I’m in command” strokes. Crap ... don’t think about jolting the springs until they squeak like a wonky shopping cart wheel. Don’t think about how he makes me moan and clutch the sheets and ...

“Coming?”

 _Very probably yes._

“Um, what?”

“Daniel. I have pulled the car over as requested. I’m gonna fill her up.” _I’d rather you filled me up._ “Then I’m gonna get coffee and a sandwich. Coming with?” He turns towards me and pulls off his shades, niiiiiice and slow in a “Why, Dr. Jackson, I’ve never really noticed before but you really are handsome and beautiful and fuckable” moment. “You need anything?”

 _YES!!!! Get out of the car meet me in the men’s room and jerk me to orgasm in twenty seconds flat you teasing, flirting son of a ..._

“I’m just going to ...” and I wave a hand in the general direction of the toilets.

The smile he gives me as he puts his glasses back on is slow and sexy and full of dirty, dirty promise.

He opens the door, gets out of the car and hunts out his credit card before pumping the gas. Pretty soon he’ll be pumping me. Hooray and hurrah!

I slide out of the car, and wander towards the men’s room in what I think is a very leisurely manner but is probably more like Usain Bolt after Olympic gold. Inside, there are four stalls which, as luck would have it, are all empty.

Without realizing it, my hand has reached down and is rubbing my erection. How long can it possibly take to fill the gas tank, buy coffee and choose between tuna and mayo and cheese salad? Not this long surely.

And then, I hear feet approaching fast and then he’s through the door and he’s pushing me into the far cubicle and slamming the door shut and reaching for my zipper and mumbling, “Fuck, get it out, come on Daniel, I want it in my hand, want your cock...” Hmmm. Nice, he’s being masterful and I don’t mind being squashed between the toilet and the wall one little bit, not when he’s reaching into my briefs and pulling me out and ohhhh, jerking me with those strong, capable fingers.

“Ngggh,” I say, intelligently, and scramble for his zipper and then fumble a bit because I’m completely un-coordinated for some unfathomable reason. But, eventually, I pull his cock clear of  his plaid boxers (oh, nooooooo, they’re awful, unsexy to the max, good job I find him uber-sexy regardless) and he’s hard and ohgodohgod leaking already.

He grunts and pulls me closer with a hand on the back of my neck and I mirror his actions, and then we’re pulling and jerking and we’re both  straining to get off and it’s wonderful and fast and so fucking illicit and, and I’m running out of those, um, things that I work with ... what are they? Words!

He rests his forehead against mine and kind of nuzzles and pushes at the same time ... all loving and nasty and romantic and harsh all at the same time ... and he’s giving me a running commentary, which he knows sends me there. “Yeah, yeah, come on, come on, give it up, I want it. I want  you to come in my hand, spill over my .... hnngggg ... harder, come on, jerk me, fuck ... harder, wanna come all over you.”

Ohhh, _god._

Talking dirty is the _biggest_ turn-on. When we first started sleeping together (and there wasn’t much sleeping involved at all, actually) Jack was all tender ministrations and gentle words of love and affection. And then, when he heard the words “suck me” and “fuck me harder” and the like issue forth from my mouth, he let himself go and we’ve never looked back on the talking in bed potty mouth front.

I’m getting hot and sweaty and kind of losing it here. We're whipping each other’s cocks fast and without finesse but it feels so good.

I miss him so much and I love him so much and I need him to come so badly.

“Yeah, yeah, guh, nearly there, oh shit, Daniel, come first, baby. Come for me. I need to know you’re okay. I was so fucking scared when you were , oh, oh oh, gone. Come on Daniel, come for me.”

And I do. I moan so loud and come so hard I almost black out, and just as I feel my vision graying, I feel his cock pulse in my hand and he spills. It’s sticky and warm and it’s blissful and I long to go down on my knees and lick him clean, hold is ass in my hands and squeeze and run my tongue the length of his shaft.

I want to love him.

We’re both panting, and Jack’s nuzzling some more, this time with an amazing tenderness.

We’re still holding each other’s cocks, gently drawing out the last drops, trying to make sure the orgasm never ends.

“Oh god,” I say, my extensive vocabulary having deserted me for the moment.

“Yeah,” Jack says softly, pulling me upright and reaching behind me for some toilet paper. He goes to clean himself up, but I do it for him and then he wipes me. Then we flush the paper away and tuck each other in and simply look at each other.

His eyes are soft and happy and he’s smiling his smug bastard smile.

My eyes are misty and adoring and I’m smiling my sated lovelorn sap smile.

They complement each other rather nicely I think.

He leans in and kisses me, those thin lips unbelievably full and soft, and he whispers, “I love you” against my lips. And  I open my mouth to his tongue and we explore mouths as though we have all the time in the world.

“You fill up with gas?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“Will you need to fill up again before we get there?”

“Yep.”

“Great,” I say, reaching past him to open the door. “Next time you get to be squished next to the toilet.”

ends


End file.
